He had always held definite views upon Kirk, and
Heaven had sent him the opportunity of expressing them.
"Yes, I dare say," he said contemptuously. "That would settle the whole
thing, wouldn't it? What do you think you are--a millionaire? Talking
as if that amount of money made no difference to you? Where does my
sister come in? How about Ruth? You sneak her away from her home and
then-----"
Kirk's lethargy left him. He flushed.
"I think that will be about all, Bannister?" he said. He spoke quietly,
but his voice trembled.
But Bailey's long-dammed hatred, having at last found an outlet, was
not to be checked in a moment.
"Will it? Will it? The hell it will. Let me tell you that I came here
to talk straight to you, and I'm going to do it. It's about time you
had your darned dime-novel romance shown up to you the way it strikes
somebody else. You think you're a tremendous dashing twentieth-century
_Young Lochinvar_, don't you? You thought you had done a pretty
smooth bit of work when you sneaked Ruth away! You! You haven't enough
backbone in you even to make a bluff at working to support her. You're
just what my father said you were--a loafer who pretends to be an
artist. You've got away with it up to now, but you've shown yourself up
at last. You damned waster!"
Kirk walked to the door and flung it open.
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